Nua didn’t leave right away, because Hala wouldn’t let her. She got her a portion of gruel twice as big as usual and a package of fresh barley flatbreads that she baked in the oven. Then, she handed her more clothes. Well, not that many – just a shirt and pants that partly survived her adventure in the Temple, and after thorough washing, boiling, and patching, were good to wear. Also, two pairs of clean smallclothes and some neatly folded rags for her monthly ordeal.

Shoes, it turned out, she had to get for herself.

While Nua was wondering, how much they could cost and if eight coppers are even close to enough, Auntie called her upstairs. There, in Hala’s bedroom, except for the carpet with visible patches of repair in whatever color was available at the moment, and a mattress, was a chest with a flat lid, used for keeping her linens, clothes, and important documents in, and a small, square, age-old table with arched legs that she used when doing her bills.

“Sit down”, she patted a floor pillow beside her. “I’ll tell you how to get to Dilbat – please travel with other people. It would be best if you went in the morning.”

“I can’t wait that long, Auntie”, Nua said. “I know that he started moving.”

“That’s what I thought”, she exuded a deep sigh. “There are farmer lorries that travel half of the way, and move when the Great Sun dims. We’re in the twilight season, so there are more of them. If you get on one, you can wait in the next village until you catch a lorry to Dilbat. Then, that’s about two days. You won’t miss it; it’s a large village.”

Nua nodded, unwilling to confess that she was going to find an entirely different means of transport.

With a serious face, Hala gave her a linen pouch. It had a heavy feeling to it.

“I can’t give you more.”, she said. “I’m sure you understand. Please do not let yourself be robbed, or squander it entirely. Half of it goes to my cousin, Dara.”

The girl peeked inside. The pouch was full of copper coins.

“Isn’t that, like, three silvers?”, she asked, her mouth agape.

“Three and six coppers.”, replied Hala. “Buy sandals from the rag dealer down the street, the one that stays by the blood orange tree. He knows me and won’t rip you off. He’ll get you something good.”

Nua closed her eyes. That was too much. Hala probably saved that coin to buy food if things got tough.

“Take back eight coppers.”, she said, showing her coins. “I earned them.”

“Yes, I’ve heard from Umme. When you got back today, girl, I thought that’s where your trouble came from.”

“…oh.”

“Here’s the letter.”, Auntie gave her a twice-wrapped sheet of paper. “If you ask for Dara of the Goats, people will show you the way.”

“Dara of the Goats?”

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“She keeps goats. She’ll probably make you herd them, so please behave.”

“And then, here’s this.”

Hala took out an innocuous linen package. She unfolded it carefully as if holding a holy icon.

Inside, there was a scrap of the kind of cloth Nua has never seen before other than from a distance.

A square patch no bigger than Hala’s palm, it was dyed in a deep blue color that probably had its own name. Now faded, it must have been striking when new. The material was soft and smooth when she touched it, and glided against her skin. There was embroidery on the patch, in a delicate silver thread. Nua held her breath. It looked very similar to the glyphs from the Temple.

“It’s emegir.”, she heard Anki’s shocked voice. “I can’t tell much out of context, but it looks like a part of a poem. There’s something about sky… and lights… and this one, it doesn’t have any errors.”

“I meant to give it to you when you grow up…”, Auntie sighed. “…enough. I cut it out of your mother’s dress. She wanted to burn it, pushed it into the fireplace. I think she was afraid of a chase. If the worst happens… I want you to have it.”

“I’ve heard”, Nua whispered, touching the cloth, “That the Unsagga have their own country in the North. A few villages only, but they’re on their own.”

“Oh?” Hala frowned. “I thought these were just tales. Could be real, though. She… wasn’t in the shape to talk. But I don’t think she spoke any Azurian.”

She paused.

“…Nua, don’t even think of going North right now. Wait until I die to risk that much.”

Nua wanted to answer that the caravans go South, and bit her tongue at the last moment.

“I promise I won’t.”

“Oh gods, dear gods, I hope you remember.”

Both of them were biting their lips now, trying not to burst into tears. Lastly, Hala reached into the vast pockets of her skirt. She took out a bracelet made of red-colored, wooden beads and a leather cord.

“And that’s a keepsake from me.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I really… I hope the guy will be gone fast. I will… I will make Dara write.”

A quarter of an hour later Nua was marching in the direction of Numitor Druzus Plaza, the Overlord Mercy’s sprawling market. In her hand, she carried old sandals that the rag dealer sold her for five coppers. She already judged them comfortable enough, but for as long as she didn’t have to wear them, she preferred not to. They weren’t made for running. Or climbing.

She was still thinking about her last lie. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to make Dara write; could she talk someone into doing it? That took the money, right?

There was no risk of meeting the fish merchants and having someone recognize her, as they closed their stalls before noon. Perhaps out of excess caution, she didn’t think of getting close to the merchant halls anyway. She was looking for the inns that were hosting the caravans, and the best way to do it was following the smell, or more precisely, finding out which ones had the biggest stables.

It didn’t take a long time to find the right place – a large, square building that resembled a castle from afar, made of baked, ochre-colored mud brick. It was composed of four interconnected parts with a central courtyard. People were moving in and out, pushing carts, leading camels, and wide-bodied, sturdy scaled bashmu drakes, so different than the sleek, graceful musushu. Nua found herself stuck in a crowd, and overwhelmed, unable to figure out where to go, she let herself be carried with the steady stream of people into the yard. All that time, she had enough sense to hug her sack, guarding it against the thieves. After all, she was one. She knew that she looked like an easy mark.

“Maybe I should go to the gates and find the lorries after all.”, she sighed.

“The stables are that way”, Anki mentioned. “I can lead you. I think you were right about the danger, and… I think we should go North someday. Not that soon, though.”

“I think so, too.”

The silky blue patch was in her smallclothes, safely packed in two layers of linen. She racked her brains, but she couldn’t make anything out of it, and neither could Anki – all he knew was that the script, emegir, has been faithfully preserved. Was her mother some kind of a Northern princess? Why did she find herself so far from home, heavily pregnant, sick and lonely? Absent-mindedly, Nua rubbed her bracelet. The answers would come later.